Certain authors have glamorized the whole kinky sex thing and made millions in the process. With the advent of e-readers, there are no more incriminating book covers to hide. As such, no one knows what you’re reading, making erotica available for the masses to enjoy.

It’s everywhere. And I’m curious, because it appears spanking is not just a punishment anymore, but is also something people enjoy as a prelude to, or in place of, sex.

I approached my husband about it. I told him I was looking to write some erotica that contained spanking scenes. Would he be a willing participant in this experiment so I would know whereof I speak when I put pen to paper?

We’ve been married almost seven years, and I know him well enough to recognize an interested gleam in his eye when I see one. If we hadn’t been standing in the kitchen at 5:30 p.m. with our son sitting not 20 feet from us, his pants would have already been on the floor.

The agreed upon night arrived—at our age, we plan these things—and we were both giggling like naughty teenagers, swilling coffee to stay awake for the festivities. Right before bed, one quick shot of whiskey for courage. It would be painful, after all.

Before we set off for the sexual playground that was our bedroom, we set up the coffee maker for the next day and laid out work clothes. I tossed in a load of laundry. He brushed his teeth and skipped to the bedroom. I took my turn in the bathroom then joined him.

The lights were off. My husband lay face down on our bed, undressed except for a pair of red boxers with pink lips all over them.

I hopped into bed and gave him a playful smack on his rear.

He leaned up. “Did you put the dog in his room?”

“No talking,” I ordered, with a much harder, less playful smack. I waited for a reaction. Nothing. “Feel anything?”

“Ouch,” he said, laughing. “Not really.”

I felt something, though. It felt as if I’d popped a blood vessel in my ring finger—it burned like fire.

“Maybe do it harder?” my partner said, sounding hopeful. This was not going as I had envisioned. “I can’t smack any harder. I think I broke a blood vessel in my poor finger.

It’s probably turning blue.”

“Speaking of blue, did you take my blue pants to the cleaners?”

“No talking, slave!”

Forgetting my severely damaged hand for a moment, I delivered a palm-stinging blow. Oh, the pain! I turned on the bedroom light to examine my heinous injury. Sure enough, my ring finger had a broken blood vessel, and the entire digit was turning a lovely indigo color.

“Dammit. Yes, I took your stupid pants to the cleaners!” I was the only one in pain, and it was certainly not conducive to romance.

I do? After two swats? It was at that moment I understood why a gag was sometimes necessary.

Giving up on erotica research for the night, I pulled my spa socks back on while he turned off the light. He then pulled me close until we were in our usual snug, vanilla nighttime position—warm tummies together, legs intertwined just so, arms across each other. We were both drowsy from the whiskey, despite all the coffee.

Right before I fell asleep, he gave me a slow, warm, bone-melting kiss, and I was reminded once again why I married him. “Let me know when you need to do more research. That was fun,” he said. Seconds later, the sound of his even breathing filled the room.

People who fall asleep so quickly have a clear conscience. Maybe my husband didn’t need a spanking after all.

Christine Cacciatore co-authored Baylyn, Bewitched and Cat, Charmed, with sister Jennifer Starkman. Both are whimsical stories about witches with secrets (available on Amazon). She is married with three children and one granddaughter. She blogs at the “Life and Times of Poopwa Foley” (http://poopwafoley.blogspot.com) and has multiple short stories published. Christine also has another story featured on this blog: “Do You Want Fries with That?” about her trying to sing the Big Mac song. http://bit.ly/1s1XwwN

Again, this story appears in “Not Your Mother’s Book…On SEX.” Coined by the Northern Star in their review as the “compilation of copulation” (http://bit.ly/1b3iTfe), this book is filled with 69—yes, 69—carnal stories about everything SEX!

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Reblogged this on SCATTEREDFROST and commented:
In case the introduction wasn’t enough to peak your interest check this out! Fifty Shades of Grey is a totally unbelievable scenario, Fifty Shades of Play is the reality of spanking for pleasure.